


We'll Rule This City

by scotty_dog



Category: The Ultimate Sidemen, the sidemen
Genre: Angst, Everyone Has Issues, GTA AU, Gen, Harry is a Little Shit, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, No one likes talking about them, OT7, Past Child Abuse, Romance, Slow Build, Torture, but an adorable little shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-18 20:33:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11298321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scotty_dog/pseuds/scotty_dog
Summary: When a new enemy arrives in the city and moves in on it's most notorious gang's territory, they don't take to it kindly, especially when their own start to be targeted. An elite yet inexperienced crew are formed to deal specifically with this problem - JJ, a rich playboy who uses his father's notoriety and money to get whatever he wants; Ethan, the best driver the city has to offer; Vik, a hacker no system is safe from; Harry, a wild boy with a penchant for explosives; Tobi, the most successful thief of his generation; Josh, a quiet but deadly sniper, and Simon, a brilliant con artist with a dark past.Their job was meant to be simple one. But that doesn't last long, especially when they start falling for one another.(slow build SDMN-OT7, criminal/GTA AU)





	1. Chapter 1

_I have many memories from my childhood. Some good, many bad. But none stick out quite like him._

_The unlucky boy, that was what they called him. Some might even say cursed._

_A cursed child._

_I remember him from a young age. Starting out at school, one of the poorest in our inner city, the kids there weren't expected to amount to much. I used to be determined to prove them wrong, to prove that not all kids from our area were doomed to be worthless pieces of trash. Maybe I succeeded...or maybe I became exactly what they feared I would._

_Anyway, the boy. The first day of school - everyone was wide eyed and nervous - new friends beckoned, learning was the last thing on my mind. Fuck learning ABC's we're gonna play football on the school yard and charge at each other playing British Bulldogs._

_At the tender age of four, appearances are usually the last thing you worry about. It is truly one of the greatest traits of children, the fact that stereotypes and prejudices that darken adult mindsets have yet to set in. Faces tend to blur into one gigantic, hyperactive mess._

_That boy though, that boy I noticed._

_For starters he was tiny, much smaller than me and quite a bit shorter that the second smallest child, craning his head back to stare up at everybody else, his school uniform slightly different to the rest of ours because the normal attire wasn't made that size. He was super skinny too, looked as if the slightest breeze might knock him from his feet and he would be swallowed up from my vision, getting lost amongst the larger groups of children._

_Up until that point in my life there'd only been two people I really cared about - and one of those people was me. But for some unexplained reason, the moment I saw the tiny boy, I felt a surge of emotion rush over me, like he was something special that needed to be protected. It was weird for a four year old to have those sort of feelings and I didn't know quite what to make of them at the time. Still don't._

_I remember sitting across from him - his table being next to mine - in Mrs Helis's classroom, legs swinging off his chair, too small even for the child sized chairs. More than anything I was fascinated, as kids that age tend to be when they see something or someone they're not used too. "Hey, look, look! Look at the weird thing!" There's no feeling of disgrace that is felt by adults for staring. And so I did stare a lot that first day._

_I don't know if he saw me, he rarely looked up from his paper where he would be doodling stickmen rather than doing any work, eyes wide and glistening with concentration on his artwork._

_At the end of the day, when me and the other kids from my home piled into the van, I watched him still, standing by the school gate, waiting for his parents or whoever was picking him up, swinging his arms patiently. I watched until our van pulled away from the school and I lost sight of him. I think I forgot about him when I could no longer see him. Very simple minds four year olds have, easiest to only concentrate on what is in front of you. But as soon as I saw him again the next day, I was once again fascinated._

_He never really spoke much, I don't even know if I ever heard his voice except for when he'd answer the odd question from the teacher. Other than that, he kind of kept himself to himself, strange behaviour for a child so young. He didn't play with the rest of us as far as I can remember but sometimes I caught him watching, looking like he really wanted to. I wonder why he never did?_

_A year later the boy's father dies. I don't remember how he died, I don't know if we were even told. What I do know is that the boy was missing for a few days and our teacher explained to us that he was a very sad little boy at the moment because his Daddy was gone. That was how he was known as for a while, the boy whose dad had died. It wasn't a very good nickname, cause a lot of the other kids dads had died as well, it was just that sort of neighbourhood._

_However a few years later the boy's mother died as well. I think maybe she'd been sick for a while. He found out about it during school, in a maths class. I wasn't in the same class as him anymore but I heard from others how someone had come to collect him, and that he'd left, tears in his eyes, quite sobs escaping his throat._

_Now he was the first person I knew who lost both their parents as a kid. I mean, I guess I had no parents either, but then I'd never had them to begin with. Couldn't miss what you'd never had, right? If it was possible, the boy was even more of a silent figure after that, almost invisible throughout the school day. I remember he passed out once during lunch but that was the most interesting thing that happened during the following years._

_Then the boy began to get noticed again._

_You'd have thought with such as sad story, that bullies might avoid the boy, but if anything, his situation seemed to spur them on. I remember the worst incident clear as day. We were sitting on our field having lunch - summer holiday was only a matter of weeks away - and both attentions and attitudes of pupils had been steadily slipping. Across the field I saw a group of them, four older boys who not only had an unfair advantage in numbers, but the extra benefit of all being at least a foot taller than the small boy._

_I knew those boys. Had been in a few fights with them myself and they'd learnt not to mess with me. Nuh uh, no one messed with me and my friends, unless they wanted a missing tooth and a black eye. I didn't understand why the little boy put up with it. Didn't he know the only way to get them to stop was to fight back? Our teachers always tried to tell us fighting was bad but me and my friends all knew that was a load of bullshit. However the boy didn't seem to know. I guess nobody had ever taught him._

_Instead of fighting these boys who had him cornered he said something to them. I saw three of them laughing and for a brief moment I thought maybe he'd somehow talked his way out of it, but then I noticed the fourth boy. He was not laughing. Nope. He was not happy at all. The result of whatever the boy had said was not at all pretty. The fourth boy picked him up with one arm, like he weighed next to nothing, and threw him into the wall. It was like a scene from an action movie. It would've been cool if it hadn't been so real. Even though they were far away I thought I could hear the thud the boy's body made with the wall, and watched wide eyed as he fell to a motionless heap on the ground._

_I remember how my heart had pounded in my chest. For a split second I wanted nothing more than to run over and scoop his fragile body into my arms, to protect him from everything, but I was very aware how everyone was staring and before long a teacher came running over and carried the boy to the nurse's office. Eh, it didn't really matter who helped him – it wasn't like we were friends or anything. The boy returned a few days after the incident, but after that he was even more careful to hide himself away from everyone else._

_Move forward another couple of years, onto secondary school now, and the same unfortunate boy is involved in a car accident. He escapes with only a broken arm, a couple of bruised ribs and whiplash. His older brother - who'd been taking care of him since his parents had died - was pronounced dead on the scene, along with his brothers girlfriend. Yeah, I know, talk about unlucky._

_So where are we now? This boy - this small, quiet boy - had lost not only his mother and father, but also his only brother, all before he turned sixteen. I remember thinking - fucking hell, could your luck get any worse?_

_And then he disappeared not long after that. Not as in properly disappeared or anything, but he disappeared from my life. The last I'd heard was that he'd been sent to live with his only surviving relative, somewhere in America._

_And that was the last I heard of him._

_I guess I moved on, and I mean I moved on as much as you could from...well, nothing really. Cause it had all been nothing. He hadn't been my friend. I'd never even spoken to him throughout my whole time of knowing him. I'm not even sure if he realised I existed._

_I remember so many things about this boy, so many little, irrelevant details, and yet I can't remember perhaps the most important fact._

_I don't remember his name._

_I don't remember forgetting it...I mean I'm sure I must have known it at some point, but it has long since slipped from my mind, along with nearly all the other kids at school. Anyway, no one ever really used his real name. It was always either "that boy" or "the little guy" or "midget man" or a few others I half remember in passing, plus he did have that skill of disappearing into the background. Of making you forget he was there._

_I never forgot though. I always paid attention. And to this day he still haunts my mind when it has time to wander._

_Often I find myself wondering..._

_Who are you boy from my memories?_

* * *

 

Josh awoke slowly that morning, a certified rarity for the light sleeper.

The bright light beams passing through his room's blinds were enough of a tell to suggest that not only had he woken up groggy, but also much later than his normal dawn rising. He was more used to hearing the chirping of birds when he first opened his eyes, not the cacophony of shouting and traffic that greeted him that day.

Sitting up, he resisted the urge to flop straight back down into his pillow as a dizzy spell hit him full on.

Oh yeah, that's right. He'd been celebrating last night. Another successful job. Another stack load of cash to add to his life's savings - money which even he didn't know exactly what it was for.

Josh couldn't recall the last time he'd consumed so much alcohol but he'd wager it hadn't been since his early days landing in America, oh Land of the Free and Home of the Brave, where the cereal was weird and the chocolate was shit. He'd also happily place a solid bet that it was his "business partner" who was to blame for his current state.

Glancing about, he was relieved to find that any evidence of last night's celebrations had not made it into his room. His clothes were chucked messily on the floor but other than that, nothing was out of place. It was a fairly bare room anyway, not much present to mess up.

His head turned to the door as he heard footsteps approaching. The door opened and he met eyes with the man responsible for his current condition.

Business partner, room mate, and more importantly, best friend: Ethan Payne.

Ethan was three years younger, fairly short and stocky with one hell of a powerful punch, Josh could vouch for that. In his teenage days he'd keep his hair very short, almost buzzcut, but recently he'd been letting it grow out and he ran a hand through the reddish brown curls right then.

Much to Josh's chagrin, the younger man appeared considerably more put together and he glowered at the smug smirk that formed on Ethan's lips as he took note of his friend's less-than-put-together form and sauntered over to the bed.

"C'mon buddy," he grinned, offering an arm to the scowling man. "I know just what the doctor ordered."

Josh tried to think of a smartass reply but for once his brain failed him. Damn, he must be hungover. Taking the initiative, he excepted Ethan's help reluctantly and followed the man out into their narrow hallway.

Their apartment was a modest one, neither too small nor extravagantly large, simply designed with two bedrooms, a study, a bathroom, a tiny balcony and an open planned kitchen/living area. They had the budget for a more upscale property but the living space was more than enough for the two and all their possessions they had accumulated over the years which, compared to other men their age, was really not that much.

Neither one had kept any childhood keepsakes and Josh was very much a keep only what is absolutely necessary, chuck everything else out, kind of guy. Ethan owned a few more items, but they were mostly random objects from particularly memorable jobs. Half a sign that had sat below the first location Josh had ever used in the city as a sniping perch, a cheap hair salon, with the rusty old metal simply reading, "REE - RCUTS - TUDENTS." An unopened bottle of whiskey he'd snatched from a dead man's hand the moment Josh had popped a bullet through his eye. That had been a thrilling one. A shoot to kill in the middle of a city parade - their clients had wanted to make a statement - and Ethan had been able to brush by the man, take the bottle and disappear into the crowd again, all before his corpse had even hit the floor. And perhaps one of his most prized possessions was a little bobble head, that had sat proudly on his first car's dashboard for many years. It was a little cowboy figurine, a character which represented a time Ethan often thought he would have gotten along much better in – more fighting and drinking and less rules and regulations. Also, the trinket contained a nifty little extra, when taking the head off, it revealed a device Ethan would often use to pick car locks.

Taking a seat next at their kitchen island, the smell of eggs and bacon filled the air, familiar and comforting, Josh watched as Ethan busied himself with the breakfast.

"Y'know I always wondered why you never drank that much," Ethan pondered, sliding the bacon rashers from the frying pan onto two white china plates. "But then, y'know, I see you get hammered and I realise it's probably for the best."

"Whatever," Josh mumbled, grumpily stabbing at the meat with his fork when Ethan passed him his plate.

"I'm just saying," Ethan continued, "that while I'll admit I can't exactly drink for the nation, at least I don't start putting on a sock puppet show."

Josh almost choked on his current mouthful. "I didn't -"

"It was quite the performance. Mrs Stripy sock trying to get away from evil Mr Grey sock to live a more fulfilling life with Mr Nemo Sock. Brought a tear to my eye, it really did."

Josh scoffed. "You're making that up."

"Oh really? Well I guess I'll just send the 'made up' video footage to all the media outlets. Might be a bit hard for us to find work for a while but it'd be worth it to see your little show being discussed on local news stations."

"Well I guess I'll have to shoot you then, won't I?" Josh deadpanned instantly, face blank as he glared at the younger man, but Ethan just let out a good-natured chuckle.

"Alright, alright, calm down buddy," he teased, "it's not like they would know it was you anyway."

Josh gave a short nod. "Damn right they wouldn't."

The younger man let out another laugh, shaking his head at Josh's moody demeanour. Josh maintained his stoic glare until Ethan turned around to pour himself a coffee, and only then did he let the facade slip, a tiny fond smile slipping onto his face.

 _Thanks Ethan,_ the breakfast was already doing wonders to clear his head and put a spark back into his eyes. He didn't need to say the words out loud, and Ethan didn't expect them, but they both knew Josh was grateful.

At a first glance, it might be easy to wonder why the hell the two were able to stand living together, let alone call one another a best friend. On the outside they were polar opposites - Ethan was about as loud and as brash as they came, plus he had the habit of rubbing new people up the wrong way, as well as tending to think with his fists first rather than his head - while Josh was quieter and cautious, more unassuming, with an eye for fine detail, analysing over every situation almost obsessively. But the truth was neither man could imagine life without the other.

They had grown up together, closer than brothers, in the same foster home - a dreary, four storey, red-bricked building that had been run by staff rather than owned by a family. Growing up with nothing, they had relied on each other indefinitely. It hadn't mattered that Ethan was three years younger; they were each other's mother, father, brother, best friend, whatever they needed to be - the world hadn't seemed so lonely when they had the other by their side.

Both their parents were convicts in some way or another, their mothers would have given birth to them before being sent to prison, or maybe even while they were in the lock up. That was what the home specialised in, taking in kids from criminals - although that hadn't been their motto - maybe they thought it would be good to keep the kids together so they had common ground. Or maybe they had just been worried that they might be messed up like their parents and wanted to keep them away from the kids who actually had a chance at becoming decent human beings.

As young boys, Ethan and Josh often liked to pretend that their parents were vigilantes, people who'd been sticking it to the man as an act of defiance from working class citizens. However they both knew the far more realistic truth was that their mother's were most likely just like the average convict. Involved in drugs or robbery or maybe fraud. Either way, they'd never been interested in tracking them down, at least by not knowing, that childish fantasy of some kind of superhero parent could still remain in the most innocent part of their minds.

The group foster home itself was kind of...meh. They were fed well enough and kept decently clothed, although the food was always the cheapest tasteless stuff from the local supermarket and the clothes often too big or too small with holes already worn in, having belonged to some other child at some point.

There was something exciting about it though. Living with about twelve other children meant there was always something going on, they could never claim to have been bored. It also served them well at school. Being from the home offered them a certain kind of privilege - back up. If anyone ever messed with one of them, they would be messing with the whole hoard. Neither Josh or Ethan had ever been a victim to bullying but they sure as hell had been part of the mob that rose up if one of the others was in trouble. Sticking together was safer, that was what that had taught them, and it was a belief they had carried on into their adult life. That was why they always worked as partners and why they always worked for gangs rather than a single client.

So yeah, their childhood hadn't been so bad. There weren't really any rules set in place so they were allowed to run wild. In the end it was inevitable that they ended up as drug runners for the local gang.

Their foray into criminal behaviour had occurred slowly but there had been something so very natural about it. Many kids in their primary school were working for the local gangs or had siblings who were members before Josh or Ethan had even started there. It wasn't like it was a major deal to anyone, it was just how things were.

Kids were useful, they were often smaller and scrawnier, easier to go undetected and would come under less suspicion from the authorities. Even on the odd occasion a kid was caught, the worst that could happen was they'd be sent a warning. The police couldn't exactly go around locking up seven year olds.

For Josh, he could trace back his involvement with the gangs to one very specific moment. Or even one very specific thought. It was a couple of days before his eighth birthday, the school year had only just began. The time of year meant that, for some kids, they would get to show off their new trainers or bags or watches, but they were in the minority. Most kids at the school were lucky if they had a new uniform bought for them. However there were the odd few who would come decked out in all the latest gear, and that year, one of those kids happened to be a boy who went by the name of Luke Driver. Swaggering into school on the first day, looking like he'd jumped straight from a preppy clothing magazine, clearly here was a boy who wanted for nothing. At first Josh had paid him little attention - who was he to care what others wore. It was only when they were let out for lunch, did the boy really capture his attention. Or should he say, his football boots.

Josh saw those football boots - designer, top of the range, he'd seen the adverts - and he wanted them, like  _really_  wanted them. The feeling was strange to him at first. Never before had he desired anything so much. Never before had he felt such an intense need to own something. Never before had he given a single fuck over something purely materialistic. But he was growing up, and he was starting to notice more and more the bridge between those in poverty and well...everyone else. Why should the privileged get all the good shit? He wanted something for himself. He wanted those football boots.

But how?

Over a hundred pounds - never in a million years would the staff at the home buy them for him, and even if he got paid for doing small jobs for their neighbours like some of the kids did, it would still take eons to earn that much cash.

No, he wanted them and he wanted them a quickly as possible.

As it turned out, getting a job for the local gang in the area was very simple. All it involved was hanging out for a while in one of the areas members were known to frequent. Josh knew of one such area, the local kids park. While parents watched their little ones play on the slides and swings, a few feet away a teenage duo would sit, hoods up, cigarettes in hand, minding their own sweet business. Business happened to be the sly exchange of money between their hands and the younger kids who worked from them.

Josh hadn't been sure what exactly he was supposed to do. Did he just go up to them and ask for a job? Was there some kind of secret password? Did he have to go through initiation first? Fortunately, while he was debating this through in his head, one of the teenagers took the hint and invited him over - they'd seen him staring for a while.

"Say kid, you wanna earn some extra cash?"

They had laughed when Josh had agreed straight away without asking any questions, and explained what they needed him to do. His job was an easy one. There was a system set in place, one designed so that the higher up the command chain you were the less likely you were to be caught.

Josh and the other kids his age were simply runners. They would hang around at the known locations, close enough so they were in eyesight of the dealers but not too close that it would suspicious. The dealers were the faces, the guys who the people buying the white stuff would go and speak to. A few easy hand gestures were all that was needed for the dealers to indicate to the runners what they were supposed to get. The runners would then run to the closest supplier, often parked up a few streets away, usually posing as a maintenance van or something equally normal looking. They would then return with the stash to the meet up point and hand over the drugs to the buyer, although not before receiving the cash first - that was a rule that was drummed into them from the beginning - and at the end of their shift they would head back over to the dealers to give them the cash. They would receive five percent of whatever was earned that day, no pocketing anything extra, that was a sure fire way to get the shit kicked out of you.

Josh would work his part every weekend, and often after school. It wasn't playing up much to his sharp mind and there were times when he'd get incredibly bored if business was slow, but there was also an adrenaline rush and a sense of thrill and danger that no paper route could ever provide. That and he was earning so much more compared to his friends on the right side on the law. It hadn't taken much for Ethan to be roped in too, when the boy was old enough. At the ages of ten and seven to fourteen and eleven, thousands of cash had passed between their small fingers, through to the big dogs. When he turned fifteen Josh had been offered a step up to a dealer – what an honour! – and he'd been earning even more.

Josh got his football boots and then some. An xbox, nerf guns, even alcohol and cigarettes when he was old enough to take interest. And Ethan managed to show incredible restraint for a kid his age, saving up the money to buy a mini motorbike which cost over a thousand pounds. If the staff at their home were suspicious about how the kids in their care were buying all these expensive items, they certainly didn't care enough to interrogate them.

And so that was there life for a while. Living it high, not really worrying about anything, enjoying life as it came.

But then shit happened and suddenly that life didn't seem so sparkly anymore.

At the time Josh had only just finished school but they decided to take their chance and head out on their own. Ethan was only just heading into his third year of secondary school and yet there they were, heading to a place where they'd heard tall tales of how the gangs ruled the city. How you could become a king if you made the right connections and pulled of the heists that would earn you the big bucks. They had enough money saved for a one way flight ticket. So they took it.

Yeah, they were tired of being runners and dealers, it was time they took a step up the ladder. How clever they had thought they were. Two kids on their way to America to make a name for themselves. Except it hadn't all worked out that way, because why should it? They were just two kids with big egos who immediately got lost in the sea of even bigger egos and personalities. And these bigger personalities had one main advantage. They'd been in the business for years, and at a much higher level.

Those first few months were extremely tough and money was running low by the time they were lucky enough to find someone willing to take them in, for no other reason than the fact that Ethan knew his way around a vehicle or two. The Manic Mechanic was in fact run by a fairly mild mannered, middle aged man, who had taken pity on the two boys when he'd caught them scoping his place out, telling them he could use some help from someone who had a clear interest in cars, disregarding the notion that while they thought the cars were cool, what the lads were really interested in was stealing one for themselves.

They had been wary at first, naturally, but the manic mechanic - who they came to know as Ed - proved to be just a genuinely decent guy, and not some psycho or child molester. In fact, if the man hadn't had such a heart of gold, it was hard to imagine where Ethan and Josh would have ended up, except as street kids, working as lapdogs for the lowlifes around the city once more.

Before even travelling to the new country, Josh had been worried about not being able to look after the younger lad, but as it turned out, Ethan was often the one taking care of both of them. He was the one earning their keep, he was the one working in the body shop dawn till dusk. Josh helped around too, where he could, but he had no real interest in cars and Ed hadn't forced him to work.

So with a copious amount of free time in an entirely new city, what else was there for a sixteen year old to do other than explore? That was how he'd ended up working his first job – although technically it was quite unintentional. It was strange really, how fate worked. If he'd walked down another alley, at a completely different time or day, perhaps none of the rest of his crazy life would have followed. But as it happened he did walk down that alley - in between the Chinese and the launderette - at that time - just gone half ten in the evening - on that day - the day someone had to die.

The hand Josh had played in that death ultimately changed his and Ethan's lives forever. Only sixteen years old, and he already had two deaths to be accountable for. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to go back in time and see if he could have done anything differently. Perhaps no one had needed to die. But hindsight is a wonderful thing and Josh was comfortable enough in his belief that he'd made the right decision, on both occasions.

He achieved them their first real job after that. That one had been messy to say the least, but they'd got it done and they hadn't been caught or injured. And that had been it, they became hooked. It was like drug running only the thrill was a hundred times more electrifying and the rewards so much more worthwhile.

Eight years. Eight years they'd been in the business now. Responsible for seventy three deaths, but who's counting anyway? From killing local thugs, who were bad business, in back alleys to sniping top named businessmen, who were thugs in disguise, from rooftops across the city, those eight years had certainly been an uphill rollercoaster. They'd moved out of Ed's about six years ago, but they never forgot how much they owed the man, and sent him money monthly as well as checking up on him when they could. The man was proud of them. He was no fool, he knew what they did for a living, but he also knew the two young men worked by a code. No children, or anyone who fell onto the mentally ill spectrum, or anyone who they just didn't see the necessity of getting rid of. Plus The Manic Mechanic had turned from a standard body shop into one of the most popular joints in the city, thanks to the money the boys sent him and the fact they often sent the vehicles they'd used for a job to him to re-sell - the most expensive supercars and bikes that had passerby's stopping in their tracks and staring. Business was booming, he could hardly complain about that. 

Business was booming for Ethan and Josh too. They never found themselves out of work and could increase their fees with each and every quarter. And those names that they had longed for, the  _infamy_ , that had come as part of the package too. Josh aka 'Zerkaa' was one of the best dead eye snipers and all round weapons expert, with skills that could rival any of the biggest, most successful mercenaries; and Ethan aka 'Behzinga' was a natural behind the wheel, or any mode of transport, but cars and motorbikes were his speciality, who had a reputation for being one fearless motherfucker.

That was how they worked. Josh would do the killing and Ethan would handle the getting the fuck out of there part. And so, nearly eight years later, they were top of any crime bosses list if they wanted a job done quickly and professionally. For the past couple of months or so they'd been doing contract work for The Network - a literal dream come true for the two eager young men - working for the most extensive and notorious gang in the city.

With the work, came even more fame, and it wasn't long before their faces were in the media, or at least their masked faces were. The public were interested in them, hungered for their story, the two new kids on the block who, to them, without knowing all the years of relentless hard work, appeared from out of nowhere.

Only Ethan and Josh knew the true story. Only they understood what they had gone through to get where they were. At it's core, that was what made their bond of friendship so strong.

"We got any jobs coming up?" Josh asked as Ethan took a seat opposite him that sunny morning.

Ethan took a drink from his coffee mug, pulling out his phone and setting it on the counter. "Carlotta said she had something but it was in Dubai and CBA to travelling all the way out there," he told him.

Josh raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? You turned down a free trip to Dubai?"

"I don't get what the fuss is," Ethan shrugged. "Just a bunch of shiny buildings in the backend of fucking nowhere. Plus it's stupidly fucking hot and me and the heat get along as well as you and mushrooms do," he argued and Josh laughed lightly. He knew countries like that could wait, when they were old and retired and had nothing other to do that blow all their cash on pointless expensive shit – providing they survived long enough to reach that age of course.

He looked pointedly at Ethan. "So we've got some free time on our hands is what you're saying."

"Yeah, well we deserve it. More sock puppet shows and less shooting people for money - that's what I say."

" _You_  don't even do the shooting."

Ethan shook his head. "Not true, I shot that one guy who you didn't see coming."

"You missed by a mile!"

"And hit the scaffolding behind him which brought those bricks crashing down on him. If that's not skill, I don't know what is," he jokingly boasted.

Josh opened his mouth ready with a sarcastic retort but was stopped by his own phone vibrating in his pocket. Ethan tilted his head as Josh pulled it out. "Who's that then?"

"The Bossman," Josh replied, staring at the contact on the screen. This was strange. The man never contacted them directly like this, leaving it to someone else in The Network, like his PA, to conduct phone calls. Giving Josh and Ethan his number had purely been an act of good will, or so they'd thought.

Ethan was just as clueless to the call as he was. "What? Really? What on earth would he want?" he exclaimed.

"I dunno, maybe  _you_  should answer it and find out," Josh suggested, placing his phone on the counter and sliding it towards the other man.

"No it's your phone,  _you_  answer it!" Ethan argued, only for Josh to shove it straight back at him.

"I'm not the talker in this relationship, he knows that."

"Look, just stop being a bitch and speak to him. You're being a pussyhole."

"You're a pussyhole," Josh childishly retorted.

Ethan sighed, deciding to answer the call but put it on loudspeaker so as not to keep their employer waiting any longer. "Pussyhole," he added for good measure before tapping the answer icon.

The two abruptly shut up then and leaned forward, heads nearly touching as they waited in anticipation for the man to speak and find out what this mystery call was all about.

It was a call that would once again change both of their lives, forever.

* * *

 

JJ wasn't exactly what you'd call a layabout son. Honestly he'd never been required to do that much, being the eldest son of the most powerful crime boss in the city tended to let you off the hook.

Ever since the day he was born, he'd been sculpted and moulded into taking the job over from his father. As soon as he'd been old enough to listen he would hear stories of how his father had built his empire from the ground up, moving to the country as a twenty something with a hundred dollars in cash. He knew what his people expected of him, he understood the magnitude of the role he had to fill, but for the time being, with his old man still alive and kicking, JJ was just happy to drink and party the night away, sleeping it off in the glorious sunshine the next day.

He woke up that morning next to a girl who's name had slipped from his mind - Alison or Ashley maybe? Oh well, what did it really matter anyway? They were being paid generously, and JJ wasn't foolish enough to believe they actually wanted to be with him. It was his money that was attractive, not his personality, and he was fine with that, as long as the sex was above average he was having a great time.

He stretched out on the king size mattress, breathing in heavily, the scent of alcohol and sweat still heavy in the air. Swinging his legs over the side, he strutted through his double doors into the main section of his living quarters. Sure enough, more signs of drinking and partying were scattered about the large room. Beer bottles and glasses, darts in the wall – almost everywhere bar the actual dart board. Glancing at the table it looked like someone had done a line at some point. JJ hoped that hadn't been him. Although his father occasionally dabbled in the drug business, neither him or JJ had any love for the stuff - but drunk JJ, well he was an entirely different being.

JJ carried on walking through the room until he reached the set of glass doors that lead out onto the balcony, a spot where he could get a good view of the inner city located at the bottom of the valley. God, he loved this view. In the hot midday sun, the city sparkled like a jewel - rays of light reflecting off the towering skyscrapers and tiny cars that drove around them within the labyrinth of roads. It was a myriad of colours and shapes, like a young child had pushed an assortment of objects together and left it there in a mess. A loud, crammed full to the brim, beautiful mess.

JJ took a deep breath in, the warm air tinged with the faint small of tarmac, cascading into his lungs. Not healthy by a long stretch, but there was something so very, very  _alive_  about it, the very essence of the city.

Closing his eyes, he allowed the breeze to wrap around him, lifting his arms to form a Titanic-like pose.

"JJ? You in here?"

His moment of escapism was cut short by the voice of his father's PA, trusted advisor, and one of his closest friend's echoed from the main doorway.

"Balcony, Rafe!" JJ called out in response, turning as the smaller man came into his view.

"Ah you've arisen I - oh my!"

JJ tilted his head in amusement as Rafe jolted to a sudden holt and gaped open mouthed at his employer's son.

"You wanted something?" JJ encouraged him to talk.

It took Rafe a few moments to compose himself - blinking his surprise away and swallowing back his shock, but true to form he pretty quickly got down to business. "Ah yes," he began. "You're father...he um...he requires you're attendance in his office, as quickly as possible." The man's eyes darted about, unsure where to look as he delivered his message.

JJ sighed. "I have to go right now?" If his father wanted him in his office that probably meant he had something important to tell him, and JJ did not do important talks if he had just woken up.

"That tends to be what as quickly as possible means," Rafe pointed out.

"Alright," JJ said. "I'll be there in a few."

"Great..." Rate turned abruptly and started to walk away, pausing at the last second to glance over his shoulder with a smirk, "might I suggest you at least put on  _some_  items of clothing."

JJ laughed and rolled his eyes. He wasn't an exhibitionist by any means but he'd never really understood why people cared so much. It was only a human body after all. Most people's looked the same, kind of weird and disgusting. Why did people have to get all uptight about being naked unless they were intimate company? For him, it was simply more comfortable if he was lounging about in his complex.

But he supposed he better try to keep up appearances. He was the son of a very important man after all. Yeah, office meeting,  _wasn't expecting that._ It was weird. His dad never usually called him into his office unless there was some big public event coming up where JJ was required to be on his best behaviour but JJ didn't think they had anything like that coming up.

Leaving his set of rooms after throwing some shorts and a t-shirt on, he headed down the long corridor that would take him to the steps that lead outside to the courtyard below. Their house was circular in layout, with a courtyard in the middle, and his father's office lay on the opposite side to JJ's room, so it was quicker to just cut across the middle.

The neighbourhood of Redwood was home to only the wealthiest and most influential people in the city, of course that's where the crime boss would set up shop as his main home. Their family home itself was an extravagant building, maybe more so than his dad would have liked it to be, but there was no doubt it was a way to show off the wealth that the family name represented. It was also a massive underlying statement that read "DO NOT FUCK WITH US".

"What is it dad?" JJ called out before he'd even fully opened the door.

"JJ! Come take a look at this," the man greeted his son from where he was stood by the large table, a collection of papers in front of him.

He was not a young man but he still had the spirit of one. Always dressing smartly, always alert, always calm, the perfect man to be leader of The Network. He also set an incredibly high standard for JJ to follow, one which at times the young man resented him for.  _"Let Deji take over if I'm so useless"_ had been a phrase spoken over many heated debates when JJ had been berated for some form of stupid behaviour, like nearly getting arrested for driving on the wrong side of the road.

Today though, the man was not looking for a fight, and instead motioned his son over as he grew closer.

"What is it?" JJ asked, looking at the documents in front of them, photos and transcripts and what looked like police background checks.

His father shook his head. "Not what. Who," he corrected, glancing at JJ with a grim expression. "There's some new blood in town."

At first, JJ didn't quite understand, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. "More gangs move here every year. What's new?" The city was ripe with criminals, they were everywhere, they controlled everything. The businesses, the media, even the police force. The city lived and breathed them.

"Small time crooks and thugs hoping to make it big, you're right. But this is something entirely new, these lot are of a different breed."

"How'd you mean?"

His father pushed aside most of the papers, bring forth three photos. "They don't seem intent on going about things in the legitimate way. As far as we can tell these guys haven't pulled off any heists of their own so far, but what we do know is that they're responsible for three recent incidents."

He pointed at the first photo, one of a blacked out van. "Intercepted a supply truck meant for The Latin Saints." The second photo was clearly taken from a CCTV camera. "Interrupted the Snakeheads in the middle of a heist, made off with a third of the money and alerted the authorities sooner." The last photo was blurry, taken by someone who was clearly on the move. "And they have targeted a few of our own, Rob and Preston from The Pack, jumped them coming out of a bar, they're fine, just a little roughed up," he assured at JJ's concerned expression. "No one killed yet but I'm not willing to wait around until they are."

JJ nodded in agreement. Any attack against one of their own was treated with the upmost seriousness. "We got any leads as to who these guys are?" He asked, thumbing through the photos himself. The group were wearing masks in each one - ugly, grotesque creatures that were usually only seen around Halloween.  _Talk about making a bad first impression._

"None at the moment, they're good at covering up their tracks - I'll give them that. I've got our friends in the police doing some digging around, with any luck we'll have more to go on soon."

JJ poured himself a glass of water, taking a slow sip and mulling over the information. "Right, so I'll be careful until this is over, okay?" he promised, figuring he could guess why his father had called him in. "Stick with who I know and all that, lay low for a bit until all this is dealt with."

"No. That's not why I called you in here, son."

"Huh?"

His father folded his arms across his chest authoratively. "It's time you grew up, I'm handing this one over to you."

JJ promptly spat out his drink.

"Me?" He squawked while his father raised one particularly unimpressed eyebrow as he wiped at the water splashes on his hand and watch.

"You're not a child anymore and so I'm not going to treat you like one. The other gangs don't have time to deal with this nuisance, but this is something that effects all of us, so I agreed that we'd sort it, or rather,  _you_  would." A smile crept onto the man's face and JJ had a suspicious feeling that the man was  _enjoying_  himself.  _Bastard._

"Nothing too hard I suspect but not exactly a walk in the park," his father continued. "You're going to put into action everything you've learnt so far, providing you have actually been paying attention all these years." He placed a hand on JJ's shoulder, gripping it tightly. "Remember son, being a leader means not just thinking for yourself or individuals, you've got to do what's best for the whole crew - you're only as strong as your weakest link. Not to mention the guys who work for us don't often trust easily. You'll have to earn their respect, and how do you do that?"

"By leading by example and treating them with respect. They might work for us but we have to remember that our lives wouldn't be possible without them," he recited despite the shock, a passage he had recalled many a time since he was a young boy.

His father nodded in approval. "Good, you're not just a layabout Daddy's boy. You're a capable young man."

He pushed the photos to one side and brought out another document, buried under several others. At the top were pictures of four young men, two merely boys, and below was a series of information related to each of them. "I've already made some initial preparations and called in two young men with sterling reputations. I think you might have heard of them," his father said, tapping his finger on the older two of the four.

JJ studied the photos, eyes lighting up in recognition. "Oh yeah...yeah I know these guys."

He'd met Josh and Ethan a handful of times and his impressions had been pretty good. They were the type of young guys his father instantly took a liking to and from what he'd heard, Josh was scarily incredible with a sniper and Ethan could match JJ blow for blow when it came to brute force or intimidation, as well as being a world class driver.

It wasn't surprising his father wanted him to work with these guys, but this was also unprecedented. JJ had assumed he'd be working with current employees, and his father would always give their employees hired on contract at least a year's test run before hiring them full time. JJ had no doubt these two were good at what they did, but as far as he could see, there was nothing overly special about them to warrant bringing them on for this.

He didn't voice this out loud though - was still quite in shock over the whole situation - and his father took his silence as a sign of compliance. "Good, they'll be here for the initial briefing tomorrow, but you've also got work to do before then." He tapped at the younger two in the remaining photos. "Your first task, so to speak, will be a spot of good old fashioned recruitment. I've already had the potentials narrowed down so all you need to do is go and speak to them, let them know how it is."

Again JJ was confused as to why he needed to bother finding new recruits when they already had a number at there dispoal. Lifting the sheet to get a closer read, his brow fell further as he read the address for one of the potentials.

"Montgomery Trailer Park? Really?"

His father chuckled quietly. "Believe me son, if we want to send out a proper message that no one is to mess with us without there being dire consequences, we need these guys to go out with a bang. And if it's explosives you're wanting, this kid's the one you want on the job."


	2. Chapter 2

As warm yellow rays of sunlight spread across him, all Harry could wonder was why was his pillow was so crumbly and sticky? – and why did his face feel weird? Until he realised it wasn't actually soft fabric that met his cheek, rather half a slice of last night's pepperoni pizza. Ah, that would explain the vague tomato smell that was still lingering. Picking at the leftover meal, he flung it onto the floor. Kane or Rudy or Buster, or one of the other mutts that liked to wander in and use his bed as their own during the day, would most likely slobber it up.

Stretching his arms out and yawning obnoxiously loud, he twisted under his sheets to turn to the side. His clock read 14:40.  _Shit!_  Had he really slept away most of the day? That was not good. No, that was not good at all. He had things to do and now he was behind schedule!

Leaping out of his bed, Harry winced as the floor beneath him creaked and his whole world tilted to one side. His Uncle hated when he did that – said his old girl wouldn't last much longer if his boisterous nephew kept treating her like a piece of junk. Well... _she is a piece of junk,_  Harry always felt like saying, but she was a piece of junk that was their home. He would be lying if he denied he felt no sense of affection for the trailer.

Having heard no cry of annoyance from his Uncle, Harry decided he can't have been too loud or heavy-footed, although he was careful to be a lot calmer as he busied himself with cleaning his face of lingering food and throwing on his clothes – just a t-shirt and basketball shorts for the blistering hot weather that day – and creaked open the door of his room, which was really no more than a cupboard at the end of the trailer, which in itself was just a series of teeny-tiny rooms interlinked by four doors.

His Uncle was where he expected him to be, where he always was, where he had been every single fucking day for the past five years.

"You're up late," the man said gruffly, "lazy sonofabitch." Although to the untrained ear the mumblings from the sixty something year old man sounded more along the lines of: "Erup'lay, 'azee sono'abitch."

Harry snorted. "Hey, that's your sister you're talking about there. Watch your dirty mouth."

The man let out a noise not quite unlike a growl. "I'll make your mouth dirty, if you don't watch out,  _boy._ Kids these days, no fucking manners."

"Yeah well, we all know you sure as hell didn't help on that front," Harry muttered. Glancing at the TV he could see the normal soap opera plastered on the small and slightly cracked screen. It was almost the same shows every day. His Uncle had a pretty standard routine – had done ever since he'd been forced to give up his work as a construction site worker after a devastating accident which had left his mobility in tatters.

Fortunately the man's wife, and Harry's no-nonense Aunt, worked as a manager at the local diner, bringing in enough money to support the remaining family who still lived at home. How many were there now? Harry, along with his Uncle and four cousins.  _Or is it three? I never know if Travis still lives here or not._ Travis was three years his senior and was constantly breaking up and getting back together with his girlfriend of ten years, so it depended on the weather of that relationship if the man was back home or not.

Grabbing a bowl from the draining rack and pulling the cereal out of the cupboard above the seat, Harry sat down on the lumpy couch next to his Uncle, handing the man a cold beer as he did so. The man grunted his thanks and the two sat in silence for a while, staring at the TV. Unintentionally, as it always was, Harry found himself becoming engrossed in the bad acting, predictable storylines and overload of drama that was the modern day soap opera.

"Huh...I thought she'd left," he spoke through a mouthful of milk and frosted flakes as a familiar looking blond woman strutted onto screen, wearing a skimpy dress that left very little to the imagination.

"She came back," he Uncle informed him matter of factly.

They were silent again for a while, watching the scene play out – or undress – before them. Only when the woman performed an act that was predictable for the show and her character, but was still a horrible thing for any human being to do, did Harry call his outrage at the TV.

"Oh wow she's such a cunt!" he cried out, throwing up his bare foot to point at the woman in question, wiggling in toes in indignation.

A deep, throaty laugh bubbled up his Uncle's chest. His small blue eyes, crinkling with delight. "Yes! She's such a cunt!"

"An absolute cunt," Harry reiterated with a firm nod towards the older man.

Another hearty laugh of agreement. "Massive cunt."

And then they were quiet again.

That was how it usually went between him and his Uncle. Silence, argue, silence, shouting, silence, laughter, and then more silence. It was by no means a perfect relationship, but they got on well enough.

It hadn't always been like that. Harry had fond memories of a time not too long ago when they'd gotten along like a house on fire – they were buddies – but ever since that accident had taken away most of his Uncle's ability to move, it had drained him of his good temperament also. At the end of the day, it was probably saying something about their previous relationship, that now Harry was one of the few people his Uncle could actually stand to be around for more than a few hours.

Standing up and washing his breakfast bowl up, he grabbed his trainers from by the steps outside – the door was left open, as it often was during the hottest summer months. "I'm gonna do some more training," he told the man, who had moved on from soap operas to staring at the commercials; something about a lawnmower or whatever.

The man didn't avert his gaze from the screen but Harry noticed the subtle changes in his expression, indicating he was slightly disappointed to be losing his companion.  _Well sorry, if I stay inside any longer I'm gonna morph into part of the furniture._ "Mmph, don't forget sunblock," were the man's final words of advice.

Harry's lip quirked up into a half smile. "Yes Uncle," he promised, grabbing the bottle from the shelf.

Right, now down to business.

Starting off, he did his usual two laps of the Trailer Park – a speed that was not quite a sprint but faster than a jog. It was the perfect pace to feel like he was pushing himself hard enough while also giving him enough time to take note of his surroundings. The two black and white American pit bulls that barked at him ferociously everytime he passed by. The booming voice of a man shouting at his wife from another trailer, yelling to her that he was going to the baseball game. Two boys, about fourteen years old, breathing heavily as they struggled and fought with one another in the dirt.

To the outside eye, Harry knew what people would see.  _White trash._   _Good for nothing's. Trailer scum of the Earth._ But Harry knew the true story. He knew that the two dogs – Itchy and Scratchy – were two of the sweetest mutts to ever have lived and only barked so loud because they wanted him to go over and scratch behind their ears.

He knew that the man shouting – an elderly man going by the name of Jacob Jacobson – was only being so loud because his equally elderly wife was practically deaf, and he would yell until his voice was hoarse just to ensure she never felt left out of the loop.

And Harry knew that the two boys – Mikey and Joey, who he'd grown up playing soccer with – were only practicing their wrestling. They were a tag team, they wanted to make something of themselves, and so they spent nearly every waking hour finessing their moves and characters.

Good people. So many good people. And yet so often they all got categorised into one detestable corner. Yeah, Harry knew what most outsiders views were of him and his people.  _Well fuck them. What did they know?_

After completing his two laps, Harry moved onto his next exercise, one which involved nimbly climbing onto his Uncle's trailer roof. His Uncle didn't mind so much, providing Harry didn't actually come  _through_  the roof. So far so good on that front.

The purpose of climbing onto said roof was simple. To get off it. But to get off it in style.

It was a wonder to many how Harry had yet to break his neck flipping off the trailer, but the young man had always carried a sort of pure luck – or perhaps guardian angel – with him. The worst he'd ever received from his particular brand of training had been a sprained wrist.

That day Harry practiced for a while before taking heed of his Uncle's advice and sitting down to put some sunblock on. The heat seemed especially unrelenting that day, bright rays of light cascading down from clear blue skies to pierce his lightly tanned skin. He had certainly worked up a sweat faster than normal.

It was while he'd been sitting on the roof taking care of things – sitting with his legs dangling over the back – that he'd heard footsteps approaching. At first he had assumed it was someone passing by – his Uncle rarely received visitors during the day – but at the sound of voices from below, he realised someone had entered the trailer.

Placing his head to the roof, he tilted one ear to garner the gist of what was being said.

"Er hi there...I'm looking for a guy named Harry Lewis? I was given this address."

It was a man's voice. He didn't recognise it.  _British?_ Harry didn't know any other British people who lived around these parts.  _Who would be looking for me?_

"mmp'air," came his Uncle's reply to the man's query, and Harry stood up to make his grand entrance.

"Excuse me?" the man questioned as Harry moved to the edge of his roof, clearly not used to people talking with limited syllables and consonants.

"e's up 'ere," his Uncle reiterated. Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes and leapt down from the roof, executing a perfect backflip. Well, it would have been perfect had he not nearly taken out the newcomer down below.

"Jesus!" came the startled cry as Harry's form whipped past the man just coming down the stairs.

The moment Harry landed on two feet, he spun around, coming face to face with the mystery visitor. "Woah, sorry there mister! I didn't see you standing there!" he blurted out an apology hurriedly. He hadn't thought the guy would have exited the trailer so quickly. Then again, a harsh glare from his Uncle could send anyone scarpering with their tail between their legs.

The man he found himself face to face with was young, maybe a few years older than Harry, with dark skin and eyes, and hair that reminded Harry of a sheep, or cotton candy. "Wh-what were you doing?" the man asked, staring at the boy who had, to his eyes, literally appeared out of the sky.

Harry gave him a bright smile. "Oh y'know, fine tuning my agility," he explained. "Always be prepared and all that Boy Scout bullshit, I mean, no offence if you were one, but I was always told they were a bunch of pussies."

Harry laughed at his own observation but if anything the mystery guy only looked more disturbed.

After a few moments of halted sentence starts and stammering, he finally managed to come up with a question, one which he spoke with slight incredulity. "Sorry, but how  _old_  are you?"

"Twenty!" Harry exclaimed, still beaming ear to ear, he could answer that one no problem. The man winced in response.

"Do you have to shout everything?" he asked, rubbing at his ear.

"No! Uh I mean...no," Harry quietened down. Over-exuberance had always been a bit of an issue for him. He'd always been classed as "a handful". By his parents, by his teachers, by just about anyone who didn't bother to get to know him well enough.

He'd been working on it though, and this new guy seemed like an opportunity to see how long he'd stick around. "Sorry, I don't usually get guys round here looking for me," Harry said. "I hope I'm not in trouble. You're not here to beat me up are you? Cause I'm warning you mister, this may not look like much, but I've been following a strict training plan that is used by all the big Hollywood actors. Chris Pratt was just a chubby, funny guy before he started working out. Now he's ripped! I ain't even fat, even though my Uncle always says I should be cause of all the junk food I eat, but I got a good metabolism you see? Anyway, a few months on this regime and I'll be ready to play the new Hulk, they wouldn't even need to use special effects or nothing – well, except for the green part I guess."

Harry took a deep breath in after finishing his monologue. "Anyway what was I saying...?"

The other man wasted no time, blinking a few more times before simply saying, "Goodbye," and moving to walk around the energetic blond.

 _Shit,_ Harry realised that while he had not been shouting, he had most definitely moved onto rambling – a habit almost as worse as the former. "Wait mister, mister!" he called out to the retreating figure. He was apologetic the moment the man reluctantly faced him again. "Sorry if I was a bit full on there, it's a bad habit, s'what always used to get me in trouble at school, but I don't mean nothing by it, just...I–"

Harry cut himself off before he could dig his hole any deeper and a pair of unsure brown eyes cast over him, judging but also curious, and in the end the man sighed. "Is there somewhere quieter we can go to talk?" he asked, looking past Harry to the trailer entrance, obviously worried about his Uncle overhearing.

Harry peeped past him and saw no sign of the man, therefore he was most likely still watching TV. "He's fine," Harry assured with a dismissive wave of his hand at the man's doubtful expression. "Oh don't worry, he's not gonna pay attention when Judge Judy is on."

The mystery man glanced back and forth before sighing loudly, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Fine...well um, I'm here...I'm here because I have a proposal for you."

Well he had not been expecting that. "Proposal? What, like a marriage proposal?" Harry queried, brow furrowing in confusion.

"No! God no!" the man exclaimed, face contorting in horror at the mere suggestion. "A proposal! Like an offer!" he clarified, throwing his arms out towards Harry as if he could physically chuck some sense into him.

"Ohhh, now I get ya," Harry smiled, unfazed, "words eh? There's too many of them and they all mean the same thing. We should just cut all the dumb ones out to make everything simpler."

The other man muttered something under is breath that Harry couldn't quite catch but he was sure it was not complimentary.  _Jeez, someone's got a stick up his arse._

"Anyway, what is this  _proposal_  of yours?" Harry asked, bringing the conversation back to the point.

The man fixed him with another unnerving stare. "I'm here to offer you a job." He could not have sounded less enthusiastic if he tried. Also once again that had not been what Harry expected at all. Nope. No. _What the actual fuck? Who the hell is this guy?_

His reply came out somewhat disjointed. "I...I uh – I've got a job already, flip burgers at my cousin's stand Monday to Friday." He'd had that job since he was still at school. It didn't pay great but at least it was easy and didn't involve many hours.

"I think this might interest you slightly more," the man said, finally something more than a scowl appearing on his face. "It has come to our attention that you possess...a certain skill."

Harry was instantly on guard. "I dunno what you're talking about," he muttered, lowering his head.

The man ignored him. "On my drive out here, I couldn't help but notice the wrecked remains of cars. About four or so? Destroyed past repair?"

"And? Kids set fire to cars all the time, no biggie."

The man shook his head. "These cars weren't just burnt, they'd been blown up. Parts were scattered all over the place and the burn marks didn't resemble something that had simply been set on fire."

Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What would  _you_  know about it?" His eagerness to be amiable had vanished at the guy's line of questioning.  _I can't get in trouble, I can't get in trouble._

The man shrugged. He was smirking now. "Not much, which is why I apparently need you."  _Apparently?_ Nothing the guy was saying was making any sense!

"I don't understand," Harry told him. "Look, I dunno who you think I am but you're wrong, I'm just a trailer park kid in case you hadn't noticed. No trouble here Mister, no Sir-ree."

The man rolled his eyes. "Listen, if you're happy sticking it here for the rest of your life then that's fine by me. But The Network could help you become something more, we –"

_Hold the fuck up! Did I just hear that right?_

"Wait up!" Harry interrupted, eyes wide. "You're with  _The Network_?"

The man tensed up. "I am," he replied shortly.

Harry was left stunned for a few seconds, the words ticking over in his head and what they meant, before his face broke into a massive grin, cheeks nearly splitting from the strain. "Well you should've said so in the first place! Of course I'll help you guys out!" he joyfully shouted.

_Oh boy this is awesome! This is so fucking awesome!_

Clearly Harry's delighted reaction had not been quite what the man expected. "That was...a bit of a turnabout," he said, regarding Harry with partial amusement.

 _This guy is the shit!_ Were Harry's newfound opinion's on said guy and he immediately started trying to blab his way back into the good books.

"Jeez, and there I was getting all worried that you was a cop or something! You know you should really work on your marketing technique, I was almost outta here before you delivered the killer punchline!" He laughed manically, gazing in awe. "The Network...wow," he echoed.

The man cautiously laughed himself, scratching the back of his head. "I take it you've heard of us?"

"Heard of you, I know everything there is to know about you! About it all! The Network, Snakeheads, The Tailspins, Polish Army," Harry listed off some of his favourites. "Anyone and everyone; whenever I see the heist stuff on the news I find out as much about it as I can! It's so sick, like real life superheroes and stuff!"

The guy raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Superheroes?"

"Well," Harry paused, "maybe not superheroes...antiheroes!" He nodded in approval at his choice of words, although quickly checking: "That's a word, right?"

The other man didn't deny it – so Harry assumed he was correct –instead he attempted to gain the blond's attention again. "About the cars –"

"Oh yeah, that was all me! Few weeks ago those lot went BOOM!" Harry laughed, abruptly stopping when he realised how that might come across. "Not stolen or anything, they were already wrecks when they got given to me."

"They were given to you?" the man queried.

Harry halted to think about his answer. "Well yeah...from people who don't want them or need to get rid of them no questions asked. I ain't no thief Mister," he explained.

_Why did I say that?! Why would he care if they were stolen or not? C'mon, act cool, act cool, act cool..._

"It's JJ."

"Right," Harry responded without thinking, which was maybe for the best, for a few moments later his brain was freaking out.

_Wait...he told me his name? He must like me! JJ...not the...oh shiiiit_

"What about explosives?" JJ asked, unaware of the internal freakout the younger man was having. "Where do you obtain your resources from?"

"Oh I know I guy," Harry replied unnaturally calmly, sent into shock at finding out who exactly he was speaking to, "friends with my Uncle back when he worked in construction, he sets me up as long as he gets free burgers and I'll walk his dog for him every Sunday."

"Interesting," JJ said, not sounding very interested at all.

_Nah it can't be THE JJ...but fuck it is, I seen him and his dad on the TV...ha, if only my friends from school could be here, that would show 'em. I knew they were part of the gangs and the business was just a front!_

"I see you've done a good job on the cars, but what else have you um...well, blown up?" JJ asked, sounding a bit uncertain of how to phrase the question.

Harry shrugged. "Umm a couple of bikes, a truck once...a few umm boxes and stuff."

"Boxes...okay, so no houses...or say heavy doors?"

Harry reddened slightly, suddenly feeling very self conscious. "No. Never had any of those come my way."

_Please don't think I'm dumb, please don't think I'm dumb._

"But do you think you could? If it was required?"

"I guess," Harry said, not wanting to lie with false bravado. "Blowing shit up is blowing shit up. As long as I know what it is I'm working in and have the right stuff, I could."

Silence followed and Harry shifted nervously from foot to foot. JJ was giving him another once over, his mouth pressed tight, eyes hard yet indecisive. Eventually, he seemed satisfied with what he saw. "Okay then, there's a briefing tomorrow morning. Time and location are on here," he said, handing Harry a small business-like card. "I don't think I need to tell you that strictly only you are to see this and you are to turn up alone  _and_ on time, but I'm telling you: Don't fuck this up."

Harry nodded nervously, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, heart already beating faster due to the anticipation. "Oh yeah! A-absolutely! Mister um...JJ."

JJ waved the title off. "Just JJ's fine."

"Sweet..." It took every ounce of Harry's self control to prevent himself from jumping up and down with pure excitement. "You don't need to worry, I'll be there to get the job done!"

_Whatever it is... Hmm, maybe they need me to blow some bank vault doors off! I could do that...I think._

"I'm counting on it," JJ said, beginning to walk away – his car was parked up just around the corner, Harry could see it now, a bright yellow Lambo that looked completely out of place amongst the run down trailers. "Just maybe leave the dynamite behind for the briefing," JJ called out as he left.

"Right, yeah," Harry chuckled lightly, "no dynamite from me."

He continued to watch as the man disappeared behind the corner, eyes widening as the car engine revved and the yellow vehicle zoomed away, dust kicking up behind it. It was quite possibly one of the coolest things he'd ever seen.

But that could only be the start of it. Looking down at the card JJ had handed him, Harry saw that tomorrow he would be heading to Redwood.  _Holy shit, I better find my best clothing._ Not that his best clothing existed. It was always a case of t-shirts and shorts or jeans and a hoodie for Harry, but he was going to at least try and find some clean clothes for the briefing. First impression and all that jazz.

 _Briefing,_ ha, the word sounded weird in his head. Images flashed up in his brain, imaginings of a high tech room with a whole wall of CCTV cameras and holograms and people carrying guns about.

 _I'm like Spiderman,_  was the first proper thought his giddy brain came up with, before his face caught up and broke into a massive grin as he watched the final specks of dust settle back onto the dirt track.

"This is fucking sick!" he shouted out loud, unable to contain his excitement any longer, pumping his fist and spinning around on the spot.

"Shut up!" the echoes of his Uncle grumpily chastising him calmed him a bit, the man having not moved from his couch the whole time.

Harry stopped his bouncing, but his heart was still jumping around just as much. "This is so sick," he whispered instead.

Then in an act of pure joy, he through his middle fingers to the sky. 

"I'm a gangster baby!"

* * *

 

The second location JJ was sent to couldn't have been any different from the first. On the other side of the city; it was a tall, block of white concrete. JJ imagined if you cut a line straight down the middle, each side would be exactly identical to the other.  _A modest income_ , JJ theorised as he entered the main doors. Anyone who lived here would live comfortably on the lower end of the middle class rung, but only by working nine to five jobs.

After the meeting he'd just had with Harry Lewis, he would welcome a slice of normal. Mostly convinced of the kid's abilities – he wouldn't have been sent to scout Harry out if he wasn't good – he still couldn't quite imagine working with him. Too much shouting and bouncing, and that was saying something coming from JJ.

He was sure they'd make it work somehow though. Either that or he'd shoot the kid.

His next potential new recruit lived on the seventeenth floor. From what he'd read in the notes, the boy was something of a technology genius. Well off background, sent to school in America by his parents when he was eleven. There was a bit of a blank spot between the boy attending the prestigious school to living on his own in a flat. Whether that was because The Network didn't know or if they'd kept the information redacted for now, who knew – he wouldn't put it past them.

"Vikram Barn?" he asked, tapping three times on the door with the silver plated "17 B" nailed into the wood.

"Who's asking?" JJ jumped slightly, not expecting a reply so quickly, and also... _speakers above the door?_

Yes, he could see it now. Tiny holes drilled in the wall above the doorframe, allowing the owner to place tiny speakers through, in which he could communicate more clearly with the outside. 

Okay so the guy liked his technology.  _Why though? Why the precautions?_

"Why don't you let me in and I'll tell you?" JJ tried, more curious than anything.

"Nuh uh, I'm good," came the voice. He wasn't standing by the door, JJ was sure of that otherwise he'd be able to hear two voices.

The gentle whir of mechanics had him looking to his left, coming eye to lens with a security camera placed in the high corner.  _Okay, this kid is paranoid to say the least._

JJ walked up to the camera, leering up into it's view. "How's this for a shot?"

"You have a big nose."

JJ's muscles around his neck began to tighten. He didn't like people who made things unnecessarily difficult. Maximum results with minimum effort, that was how he liked to roll. 

"Listen kid, I'm not here to play games," he warned.

"And I'm not here to be kidnapped by The Network," came an equally snappy reply.

"Why would you– wait? How'd you know who I am?" JJ blinked, eyes widening. He heard a sigh coming through the speakers.

"I don't know who  _you_ are. That's the point. If you mean the bunch of a-holes you run with, then yeah, I know them very well."

 _There's only one a-hole here,_ JJ thought, and was about to say as much. Another voice had him pausing however. Muffled and impossible to understand. But either the kid called Vik was insane as well as paranoid and was having a conversation with himself, or another player had entered the mix.

JJ was quiet, waiting patiently, curiosity peaked again.

"Turn around," came his orders – Barn again.

JJ glared into the camera but did as he was told. "Who is it? Who else is there?" he asked while his back was turned.

"No one." Too quick, too forceful.

 _You're a shit liar, kid._ And besides, JJ wasn't entirely stupid.

JJ wondered what would happen next. He assumed they were trying to gauge whether he was armed. He wasn't, rarely was in everyday situations, but this guy didn't know that. Also, being able to spot an armed man was no easy task, although if the kid did possess weapons knowledge as well as hacking, that could only be advantageous.

Seemingly satisfied, Barn gave the next orders. "Alright, door's open." His words were followed by a small click and a caution of: "Mind your step."

Pushing the door open, JJ became aware of why that warning was necessary. Boxes and files littered the floor, piled so high some even reached his chest height. It was a metropolis of junk and information, hoarding at the highest level. JJ couldn't even begin to examine everything but the symbol on one of the boxes caught his eye.

The letters C and E, below the printed names of Clayton & Ellis.  _The law firm?_ One of the biggest in the city, hell the whole state.  _What could a kid like Barn be doing with all this?_

"Paperwork, right? Fucking the worst."

JJ gazed at the figure who had stepped out from another room.  _He's small,_ was his first thought. Small and wiry, wearing a hoodie and shorts, feet in a pair of hideous bright green frog slippers. He face was partially hidden under his hood, and it was dark inside, but a pair of brown doe eyes glanced up to meet his.

He didn't look threatening in the slightest. But JJ knew appearances could be deceiving and he kept his distance for now. If the kid was as paranoid as he suspected, it might not be a good idea getting too cosy.

Instead, he took the opportunity to fish for answers. "How much do you know? Why do you care? We've never worked with you before, never made contact."

The boy shrugged, stepping over a box and picking up a stack of papers off the floor, placing them on top of another stack as if that made the room look any tidier. "You were interested in me so I was interested in you," he told him, as though it were obvious.

"But  _how_  did you know that in the first place?"

"Really? You come to talk to a hacker and you're asking questions like that?" Barn quipped, smirking when JJ gave him an exasperated look and sitting himself on the only box free chair in the room – low and wide so that he practically disappeared into the cushions. "I've got certain...let's say tripwires, that alert me if anyone begins snooping about on the inter webs as to who I am, or where I live, or what I –" He cut himself off. Head dropping, so silent and still that JJ wondered if he was actually just some kind of robot that had run out of power.

"Or what I did," Barn muttered after what seemed like an age, so quiet JJ could barely hear him.

"Alright, so you knew I was coming," he said.

"Didn't know it would be today, would've tidied up a bit if you'd given me more notice. But you're here now so I guess I can listen."

"How kind of you," JJ mumbled, before launching into his proposal. "Well, I'll get straight to the point. I'm here about a job, we need someone with your skills to help." He gave Barn a sly look. "Or did you know that already?"

He was joking but the boy waved his query off anyway. "No. Carry on."

"There's nothing much more to say. Full details will be given at a briefing tomorrow at this location," he placed the same card he'd given to Harry Lewis on one of the boxes. "You can take it or leave it but I'm gonna just go now seeing as you're clearly a very busy man."

Barn's cold and dismissive attitude had ground JJ's gears enough already. God, he hated kid's who thought they were the shit. JJ might've been guilty of acting cocky in the past, but he knew his own faults. This kid...talk about full of himself.

JJ was making his way haphazardly through the boxes – not exactly the swift exit he had wanted –  when Barn's voice called out to him. Softer this time, more reflective. "The Network," he mused quietly, maybe only speaking to himself. "I never really got that name. For a title that suggests you're akin to the internet, you don't really do much on the cyber crime front, do you?"

JJ turned back around, studying Barn's face. The kid was unreadable, eyes blank and mouth tight, but there was something...a glimmer. A yearning. JJ forced as friendly smile. "Call us old fashioned – my old man's from a different era. As long as we've got security, that's usually all that matters."

"I see..." murmured the boy, picking at a loose thread on the chair arm. His face was still unreadable but JJ sensed there was a lot more going on behind the blank stare than Barn was letting on.

"So why only ask for me now?" came the boy's next question, meeting JJ's eyes again with a genuinely inquisitive expression, tilting his head like a young dog might.

 _I'm not even the one who was asking for you!_ But he couldn't exactly say that – it would hardly do him any favours. So instead he tried to offer up an explanation as best he could. "This crew we're forming..." he haltingly started, "it's kinda a new one... _I'm_  forming a new crew. Let's just say I wanted all the bases covered, and you've built up quite a reputation for yourself."

Barn nodded slowly, deep thought in his every movement. "What exactly will I be getting myself involved in?" he asked.

"Look, I already told you," JJ exasperated. "I can't say anything right now, best to just come tomorrow and–"

"What Vik is trying to ask is, does he need to be worried about being dragged into whatever deep shit you've got stirring up?"

JJ spun about one eighty as an entirely new voice entered the mix. "The fuck?"

Another small, hooded figure leapt back nimbly as JJ instinctively swiped a fist at the unexpected intruder. The mystery person laughed, high pitched and squeaky, like a little imp. 

"Woah, feisty one you are," the man laughed, doing an average at best impression of Yoda.  _I haven't watched Star Wars in a while,_ JJ absentmindedly thought, before mentally slapping himself to focus on the matter at hand.

This had to be the guy Barn had been conversing with. Had he been the one insisting JJ be checked for weapons? It was hard to judge by mere appearances what this guy would know. Decked out in all black, plain clothing, a friendly enough face but that could all be for show.

And also...oh – okay, hold on one fucking second. A ring on his middle left finger. A signature ring. Shining gold, a glimmering black opal ensconced in the centre. JJ knew that ring. Shit, the whole city knew that fucking ring. It's photo had been all over the news when it had been stolen from Princess Vivienne Leroy – a visiting minor royal from France – almost right out from under her nose. Reports stated that she'd entered a grand party, the little engagement gift glittering on her finger, yet no less than two hours later the thing had vanished. Snatched in the very middle of a security high gathering. No one had seen anything.

Although the party hosts had desperately tried to claim the Princess may have just lost it – a statement that had been met with outrage from both the young woman and the papers – there was never any doubt amongst the general public as to who had nabbed it. There was only one person talented and daring enough to have succeeded, not to mention the iconic black stamp that was discovered on the door later that evening. A simple smiley face, one which would suit a stick figure well, the little head winking mischievously at onlookers.

As he stared at the ring and the man wearing it, JJ promptly lost any tact he had ever claimed to possess. "Y-you're The Shadow?" he stuttered, half in awe, half in shock. His resemblance to young Harry Lewis at that moment would have embarrassed him, had he been able to view as a third party.

To his surprise, the man before him groaned dramatically and gestured incredulously at him. "Man that's so racist, just cause I'm black," he complained. "You'd think the journalists would have more creativity to come up with a better name than some Batman villain or whatever. How about...I dunno, naming's not my job either, but give me a day or two and I could come up with something way better than that!"

"I was handling it Tobi," Barn scowled as the other man wandered over and leant on the back of his chair. Suddenly he seemed less standoffish. More like a moody teenager than a emotionless criminal.

The man – Tobi, JJ had learned – merely chuckled again and reached down to ruffle Barn's hair, dislodging his hood. "Be real kid, you handle things as well as a Priest in a play school handles his boner," he remarked, pointing at JJ and loudly whispering. "You gotta be upfront with these mercenary types. Lots of brawn not so much –"

"What the hell are you doing here?" JJ cut him off, finally wriggling free of his stupor and standing tall, glaring down at the two.

Tobi smirked, completely unfazed. "I live here, of course."

"You live here?"

"Just said that, didn't I? Me and Vik here," he grabbed the boy by the shoulders, "room buddies."

The younger man looked positively mortified.

"You're the one who told me to turn round," JJ speculated.

"Well done!" Tobi cheered. "Someone give the mercenary a gold star!"

JJ blinked. He had no idea what was going on here. He'd arrived expecting to find a hacker and what he'd ended up with was some paranoid hoarder and his crazy kleptomaniac buddy.

"I'm not a mercenary," he informed them. "If you want to know, my father happens to be  _the_  leader of The Network."

That grabbed Barn's attention. "Shit. Really?" And was that fear or excitement JJ could detect in his voice?

Tobi on the other hand, couldn't have cared less. His reaction was equal to someone who had just been told their bin day had changed. "I don't care who you are, or who your daddy is," he mocked the last part. "You want to have him, then you're gonna have to have me too. Where he goes, I go, no arguing."

"Wait, wait,  _wait,_  I hadn't even said yes to the damn thing yet!" Barn spluttered indignantly, but Tobi only rolled his eyes.

"C'mon kid, you know you were. You can put on the tough guy suspicious act but you and I both know you're fucking interested in what this is all about that. And with me there you won't have to watch your back the whole time," he pointed out.

_So the little hacker has this guy as some glorified body guard?_

Barn looked at a loss, glancing back and forth between JJ and Tobi. "You never answered my question," he said after a while, motioning to JJ.

JJ stared blankly for a moment, having almost completely forgotten their earlier conversation. "Honestly I can't tell you," he said when he caught up. "And I mean that I don't know myself. We know very little about the details of the job and that's why we need someone like  _you_."

Barn was quiet again, picking at one particular nail. "Hmm, suppose I ought to feel flattered," he quietly said, looking up at JJ. "Alright I'll be there," he confirmed, wincing when two hands gripped his shoulders even tighter. " _We'll_  be there," he corrected, and Tobi also beamed up at JJ.

 _Alright, no need to look so smug_ , JJ met the man's gaze with uncertainty. Well, there wasn't much he could do about this. Anyway, his father would probably be happy to find out they'd made contacts with The Shadow – or whatever the fuck the thief wanted to be called.

"Fine, whatever, but no one else," JJ confirmed.

Tobi continued to keep that aggravating smile on his face, raising his hand to his forehead in a mocking salute. "Yes boss," he responded, sarcasm dripping from each syllable.

JJ simply turned away. He did not come here for a fight. And besides, despite the large height difference between him and Tobi, he honestly didn't know who he'd back to win a fight.

The door shut with a loud thud. _I did not expect my day to head in this direction when I woke up this morning._

* * *

 

"I'm telling you Josh, this place is like that Thunderbird island, y'know how the rockets come outta the pool."

"Replace rockets with tanks and you might not be far from the truth."

"Really though, who commissions a painting of their family that's that fucking huge?"

"A man who takes pride in his family, that's who."

Josh and Ethan spun in sync from where they'd been standing in front of a painting of the family and their closest allies, one which practically span the whole of the wall, both in height and in width.

"Bossman," Ethan nodded respectfully, grinning good-naturedly as their employer approached them.

"Boys," the man greeted, grabbing both of their hands in a firm handshake. "I'm very glad you're here."

"Well you are our boss, Bossman," Ethan reminded him, as the man gestured for the two young men to follow him down the hallway.

The man smiled. "This was only optional," he pointed out, leading them up a wide set of marble stairs.

"True," Josh said, voice slightly strained – he never felt completely at ease in places like this, no matter how pleasant and accommodating the company was. "But if we'd declined I'm sure you would have thought twice before hiring us again."

"Ah Josh," the man chuckled, patting him on the shoulder, "always so quick off the mark."

Josh smiled tightly. "It's in my nature."

"Just down here," the man continued to lead them, taking them down a narrower hallway, at the end of which sat a large pair of double doors, guarded on each side by very intimidating looking men. "I do hope I haven't taken you away from any other contracts."

"Nah, we haven't taken that many since we've been temping with you bossman. Had a bit of a siesta recently," Ethan told him, the opposite to Josh, the perfect picture of relaxation, and the man shook his head fondly.

"Siesta is definitely not something I relate with you two, especially you Josh."

Josh shrugged. "Takes a bit of getting used to." He hated how awkward he sounded – wished Ethan could pass some of his easy going confidence onto him.  _He always makes it look so_ _natural_ _._

Reaching the door the man halted them. "The others are inside. I should warn you though, the youngest is...eager." He said no more and gestured for the guards to open up, taking Josh and Ethan into the prep room.

The two young men looked around in fascination. They'd never been in here before, this was The Network's main base of operations. Some of the biggest heists of the century had been planned at this very table!

There were others there too. Four young men about their own age. JJ, the son of the Bossman who they'd met a few times, and then three strangers. One was sat at the table, like a schoolboy awaiting instructions. He was reading over the material in front of him but glanced up and gave the two a nod of hello.

Another man was sat in the window, feet up, arms wrapped around his knees. His face was out of sight although Josh could just about make out his reflection in the glass. Dark skin and eyes, staring out over the courtyard below. He didn't say anything when they entered, didn't even turn around.

And then there was–

"You're Zerkaa!" A young blond came bouncing up to them, eyes shimmering with excitement. They were hard pressed to tell exactly how old he was. His face was young, clean shaven with big blue eyes and golden hair. But he was built strong, not like the average lanky teenager.

The boy had switched his attention to Ethan once he'd had his share of gawking at Josh. "And you're Behzinga!" he exclaimed, just as excited.

"What? Really?" Ethan cried out in pretend surprise, studying himself and Josh. "Huh, we are, aren't we?"

The sarcasm bounced off the boy like water off a duck's back. "I'm a huge fan! Never thought I'd see you without the, y'know," he gestured to his own face in reference to the masks they always wore during heists. He stopped then, his face suddenly falling into seriousness – so quickly that Josh worried the kid had actually given himself a heart attack.

"You're not what I expected you to be..."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ethan asked defensively.

"Oh no offence!" the boy blabbered. "I mean...you're a lot younger than I thought you'd be," he hastily explained.

Josh brushed past him, choosing seats for him and Ethan at the far end of the table. "Age counts for nothing when you've got experience," he told the boy, who followed them like a lost puppy.

The boy nodded earnestly. "Right. Yes..." he quietly said, before raising the volume again. "Yes! I'll write that down, add it to that list JJ," he grinned over at the so far silent man.

JJ just shook his head, determined to ignore whatever was going on. The blond reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a small red notebook, hastily scribbling something down in pencil.

Josh stared incredulously, craning his neck to read what was already on the paper. There was only one other note so far.

'1. Keep quiet during briefings.'

Ethan and Josh shared a mutual look of pure wonder.  _Who the fuck is this kid?_

* * *

 

The briefing lasted about an hour in total. Longer than it should have done for an initial one, but Harry – having forsaken rule number one – continuously butted in and asked questions, some not remotely related to the subject.

_"How much did this house cost?"_

_"How many dudes have you killed?"_

_"Is there any more food?"_

The boy was lacking in both tact and manners but to JJ's annoyance, his father put up with it all. If it had been the other way around, JJ would have been kicked out on his arse long ago. Such was the unfairness of being the so-called "heir" to a criminal dynasty. Constantly being judged, his every action scrutinised.

The other lads seemed eager to get on with the job as soon as possible. From the information they'd been given, it seemed like a pretty basic search and destroy. Nothing too taxing but sure enough to increase their good reputation. Reputation for people like Josh and Ethan, who relied on their good names to earn their income, was of the upmost importance. And for Harry, who saw this as his chance to show what he was capable of – his ticket out of nowhere.

Once they'd run through the details, the fine details and the extra fine details, another query was brought up. "Rafe, how goes the search for my son's grifter?" his father asked the man who had been sitting in as always to provide answers and back up.

JJ's head perked up. This certainly interested him. Out of everything, the idea of working with a con artist had seemed exciting. They weren't even sure if they needed one, but having someone around skilled with infiltration and/or manipulation couldn't harm.

Rafe grimaced. "I'm afraid not that well Sir, as we anticipated, many of the top dogs are working oversees or, to put it gently, not quite the right fit for this kind of group."

 _Too old_ , JJ's first thought was.  _And maybe not British._ That was something that had occurred to him while they'd all been sat around the table. Had his father planned for this to happen? Surely not, his dad valued quality over anything – who cares where they were from?

An incredible coincidence then. It was kind of cool. JJ loved where he lived – he loved the people and the culture and the food – but he'd grown up in England. Been sent there with his little brother when things turned ugly between the gangs for a while. It was home just as much as this city was.

Maybe it was that. That no matter how weird or aloof these other guys might be, they had one thing in common at least. They were all foreigners – all trying to make a name for themselves in a place far from home, and for some far from family.

"Surely you have someone in mind?" his father asked, a statement really rather a question. Rafe  _always_ had someone in mind.

True to form the PA nodded. "Well yes...although he's not exactly on the cards officially."

"Someone we've been keeping tabs on?"

"Yes and no..." Rafe hesitated, looking unsure for a moment. "He's one of the leftovers from Coney's crew," he finally explained.

That grabbed JJ's attention. His father's too. "Coney? I thought they'd all scattered," the man said.

JJ remembered a time not long ago when that name would pop up a lot – muttered amongst members of the crew, often with distaste. He'd never been told who exactly the man was and had never bothered to find out, but whatever had gone down, it had left a bitter expression on his father's face for a good few weeks.

"Not all of them," Rafe continued. "Listen, the kid's great, a genius at what he does, but Coney was his first proper experience working bigger jobs and...well it shook him up a bit, it wasn't exactly the best introduction."

"Very few first experiences are," Ethan added quietly; Josh silently agreeing beside him.

The PA smiled sympathetically at them. "Yes I know...I don't really know the kid but he seems the good sort, taking on another job so soon might not be good for him."

Silence descended in the room – even Harry was quiet – until his father made the decision. "Call him in anyway," he instructed. "There's no harm in introducing him and be sure tell him he's free to walk away if he decides against taking the job."

"Alright Sir, I'll see to it at once," Rafe confirmed, walking out of the room to do exactly that.

JJ was left with the others, wondering who this new mystery kid might possibly be, as well as mulling over the barrage of information that had already been thrown at them.

A tap on his shoulder and then a throat being cleared, followed by a: "Umm JJ...?", had his head swivelling to the right.

"What?" JJ snipped. Harry's eyes widened but the earnest expression never left his face. JJ's face softened as he caught a glimpse of nervousness in Harry's movements.

"Can I help you?" he asked again, kinder this time.

The boy bounced about on the balls of his feet, glancing about the room and biting his lip, before telling the older boy of his dilemma.

"I need the toilet."

* * *

 

Sheets twisted and coiled as the body underneath it jostled about uncomfortably. Outside a pair of birds were loudly performing a mating ritual on his window ledge. From the flat below a woman could be heard screaming at her crying baby.

Despite all the unwelcome distractions, the young man probably would have carried on sleeping were it not for the buzzing of his phone on the bedside table. One long, skinny arm struck out from underneath the white sheet to grab at the buzzing device and brought it clumsily to his ear.

"'llo?"

"Simon, it's me." The young blond sat up tiredly as he recognised the voice, running a hand over his hair so it stuck up even more wildly, before bring it down over his face to try and rub the sleep out of his eyes.

"Hey Rafe," he greeted, trying to make it sound like he hadn't only just woken up.

"How're things going kiddo?"

Standing up, he stood in front of his bedroom mirror, taking stock of what he looked like. His clothes hung loosely over his lean frame and Simon knew that underneath the grey t-shirt, his ribs were beginning to show through his skin. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a proper meal, had given up recently due to feeling nauseous almost the second anything was down his throat. He'd get over it soon though, it was just a phase.

That was thw truth of how things were, but obviously he'd never admit to that, and so he simply said, "Good...they're going good."

"Glad to hear it," the man replied cordially. There was a pause and Simon could hear the man breathing quietly, and then the rustlings of some papers. "So Simon," Rafe continued, his tone switching up. "I've got an interesting proposal for you, an offer to work for my boss, or rather his son. You'd be paid handsomely."

Simon stiffened. "I said I wasn't ready to take jobs yet, Rafe."

"I know, I know. Don't worry, I'm not ringing to conscript you up to anything you don't want to do!" "Where're you living right now anyway?"

Simon hesitated before answering. "Just an apartment downtown. I like it. It's simple." If simple meant extremely cramped, with a broken AC and obnoxiously loud neighbours, then yeah – it was the most fucking simple apartment in the city.

It was cheap though. And on his budget, about the best he could afford for the time being.

"But not the same, I bet," Rafe picked up on his obvious discontent.  _Idiot,_ Simon thought.  _Of all the people I'm the one who should be able to hide what I'm feeling._  He supposed he was a bit out of practice after recent events. Bit out of everything to be honest.

"No. But that's good Rafe," he tried to convince the older man he was fine. "I'm not going back to how things were. Not ever."

"Of course not. No one's asking you too," the man was hasty to assure him. "What I am asking is whether you can become available for hire from The Network."

"The Network!" Simon spluttered. "They practically run the city!"

"I know. We do."

The blond froze at the weight of the words. "You..." Shit...he'd known Rafe was one of the big dogs but this...this was an entirely different league. It also opened a whole new barrel of mystery.  _Why did they get involved? Why did they care about Coney?_

On the other end of the line, the older man laughed at Simon's surprise. "Things were so rushed when we first made introductions, I neglected to inform you of that fact. And while it is true I've worked with multiple crews, my first point of contact has always been and will always be The Network. They're my people. Their leader is my oldest friend."

Simon took a deep breath in, the exhale coming out shakier than he wished. "I dunno...this is...this is–"

"The Network, they take care of their own, believe me," Rafe told him softly. "And they could really do with someone of your exceptional talent to help them out."

Simon smiled thinly. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Rafe."

"Of course it will."

"Okay," Simon's mouth was responding automatically while his brain screamed  _NO_. "Okay, tell...tell him I'll be there."

"Excellent, thank you so much for this Simon," Rafe graciously thanked him.

 _I haven't agreed to it yet._ "Yeah, see ya soon," Simon replied, hanging up immediately before anything more could be said. He was breathing too quickly.

His hands started to shake, although he told himself it was from too much coffee and Red Bull and not enough actual food. That was more pleasant to believe than the actual truth. He staggered to his living room, flopping down onto the sofa. His heart was racing and his pulse quickened, beads of sweat appearing at his temple.

He laid there, simply focusing on breathing until he was finally able to pull himself up to a sitting position without his head spinning. Regret was in the forefront of his mind. What had he been thinking, agreeing to the meeting? Hadn't he already learnt that him and people...any other people – it was just never going to work.

It had never worked. Perhaps he'd tricked himself into believing it could for a while. But that had all ended. It always did.

_Don't get your hopes up. Just go in, do the job, and get out._

Yeah, nice a simple.

The Network though...

Simon rested his head in his hands, trying to massage the headache away from his scalp. Memories pushing around, aggresively trying to surface to the forefront of his mind. He wouldn't let them. He couldn't.

Sighing, he eventually heaved himself up, heading to get his laptop so he could read up a bit more about the guys he might be working with soon; all the while thinking:  _What am I letting myself in for?_

If only he had known.

But like they say, hindsight is a wonderful thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, main characters introduced. Now on with the story!

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be an epic. Hopefully. Really excited about this one anyway!


End file.
